


it gets easier

by lipsstainedbloodred



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Lap Sitting, Love Confessions, M/M, but like already after having been together, i just like it when crowley pines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 15:34:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19833184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lipsstainedbloodred/pseuds/lipsstainedbloodred
Summary: or,  Crowley is just as overwhelmed weeks later as he is the first time Aziraphale says he loves him.





	it gets easier

**Author's Note:**

> “Look at the light through the windowpane. That means it’s noon, that means we’re inconsolable.” - Richard Siken, “Scheherazade”

Winter came with a vengeance, spilling snow and ice across the winding narrow London streets. The mornings were particularly bitter, fogging up the windows of cars and houses, leaving thin brittle sheets of ice across the panes. Aziraphale left the heater off in the shop on purpose, to deter more people from braving the elements to stumble inside his shop. If the smell of must and mold and his own unhelpful demeanor didn’t stop people then certainly the cold would. His flat upstairs was significantly warmer, if only because in the weeks since the Apocalypse-That-Never-Was -and the following weeks in which they’d decided to stop dancing around each other- Crowley had taken to staying the night with Aziraphale. [1]

[1]  _ The first morning Crowley had woken cold he’d been lethargic and cranky the rest of the day. It was easy to remember to leave on the space heater for him, after that. Easier to stay in bed with him until he woke, arms wrapped around each other and legs tangled together. If Crowley pulled away with an embarrassed flush Aziraphale was too polite to mention it. _

Crowley would leave to water his plants and return sometime in the afternoon, bundled in a rather handsome pea coat and fur-lined gloves Aziraphale had gifted to him sometime in the 80s. 

“Don’t know how you can stand it,” Crowley complained as he came marching into the back room. The tips of his ears were a delightful red and his nose was pink. “You’ll catch your death down here.” He thought about it for a second, “Or discorporation, anyway. Discorporation by frostbite.”   


“Oh my dear, I don’t think it’s quite that serious.” Aziraphale soothed, taking Crowley’s hand in his own. He brought it up to kiss that glove covered palm, breathing in the scent of leather and winter air.

“Ngk.” Crowley said.

“Go ahead upstairs and warm up,” Aziraphale offered. “I’ll just shut down the shop and follow you.”

“It’s barely two.”

“Yes. I’m actually open rather late, aren’t I?”

Crowley snorted and then immediately coughed to cover it up. He pulled his hand free from Aziraphale. “Alright then. Tea?”

“Please.”

Aziraphale watched Crowley make his way upstairs and then went about turning off the lights and locking the door.

Upstairs they settled on the little couch in the sitting room, Crowley piled in Aziraphale’s lap to leech his heat. [2] He snuck cold hands under Aziraphale’s jumper and snickered when he sputtered.

[2]  _ When the weather was cold like this, Crowley rather liked making use of Aziraphale’s lap. _

Crowley never wore his glasses, up here. Aziraphale appreciated it. He liked looking at Crowley and seeing him looking back. He kissed Crowley’s cheek because he could, and wasn’t that something? Finally being allowed to kiss, to touch and hold and soothe and say sweet things and to mean them. 

Crowley let out a great breath, shuddering. He clutched a little harder at Aziraphale, hands winding into the soft wool of his jumper.

Aziraphale hummed. He liked spending time together, now that it was allowed. They’d stay sat here all night if he allowed it. If he didn’t think Crowley would complain in the morning about having slept on the couch all night. He ran a warm hand over Crowley’s waist and up his back. It was so good being allowed to touch.

“I love you,” Aziraphale said. The newness of it, the novelty of it, made his heart thud along his ribcage. He caught Crowley’s mouth with his own, feeling the hitch in Crowley’s breath, feeling the sob as he crumpled, defeated, into Aziraphale’s arms. Aziraphale kissed him. And kissed him. And kissed him. Until Crowley was wet cheeked and shaking in his arms, little gasps of air between them that trembled and crashed like waves against a rock. He was so lovely, and perfect, and perfectly lovely even when he was crying. [3] Still, Aziraphale made a small soothing noise and cupped Crowley’s cheek in his hand. “Love,” He ran his thumb tenderly over that tear stained cheek, “ _ darling _ , why are you crying? Have I upset you so?”

[3] _ Crowley had cried rather a lot in the last few weeks that they were together.  _

“No,” it bursts out, like a gunshot, like a cannon. It’s like it rips a hole straight through them. “No, no of course not.”

“Tell me?” Aziraphale asked, “Talk to me?”

Crowley closed his eyes, leaning into Aziraphale’s hand. “I-” he took a breath. “I’ve loved you for so long,” Crowley whispered, tortured, haunted, “kept it to myself for so long.” His hands cling to Aziraphale’s jumper, to his hair. He slides them around until they’re clutching his back and the two of them are pressed so close they have nothing between them but words. “Hid it like a secret, like it was something to be  _ ashamed  _ of. I can’t…” Crowley dropped his head forward, seeking the comfort of Aziraphale’s shoulder, seeking his protection even from himself.

Aziraphale held him tighter. Wrapped both arms around his back and held him closer. “Oh, Crowley.” It came out wounded.

“It’sss hard, angel.” Crowley hissed, curving in tighter, pressing impossibly closer, trying to hide inside of himself and the shelter of Aziraphale’s body. “Remembering that I can have thisss, being allowed. Sss’like a dream.”

Aziraphale has loved Crowley for millennia, been in love with Crowley for at least a century. The thought of Crowley having loved him in secret for longer, for having been ashamed of loving him, gives him a belly ache. He kisses Crowley’s head. He runs a hand down his spine. Touches his shoulders. “I wanted to keep you safe,” He said, “I thought Hell would destroy you if they knew that I- that we- I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Crowley breathed against his skin, “Just-” His fingers dug in harder as if to mask their trembling, “it may take me awhile to get used to it. Being allowed to love you. Letting you love me back.” 

“Oh,” Aziraphale said. He coaxed Crowley out of his hiding place, holding that handsome angular face in his hands so he could look him in the eye. “My love, we have all the time in the world.”

“Okay,” Crowley said, grabbing onto Aziraphale’s wrists. His voice cracked and they both ignored it, pressing their foreheads together. “Okay.”


End file.
